9. Bas
BAS
Ileft the kitchen door unlocked, with the coffee going. Gemma arrived right on time and knocked anyway.
“It’s open,” I hollered.
“Good morning. You bought cream,” she said, noticing it sitting near her cup.
“Mornin’, and you told me how you take it. I listened.”
“Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
I hated how formal she sounded after what I thought was a relaxed end to our evening last night. Whose fault was that, though? I was the one who couldn’t answer why I’d said I needed her. All I knew was it was true.
“I’ve never met the wine director. What’s he like?” she asked once we were on the county road.
“Tom Prentiss has been responsible for the Creekstone list for years. My dad never once came home from a meeting with him without an order.”
“What’s your goal for today?”
“That he keeps the two he already has on the list for the summer. Getting the third and fourth ones back would make it a good day.”
“Then, let’s have a good day.”
When we pulled into Creekstone a few minutes later, Gemma stuck her tablet into her satchel and waited for me to come around to get her door. I couldn’t stand it when women jumped out of the car before I got there. And then, you’d hear how people in general thought manners and chivalry were dead.
“Annette’s meeting me in the lobby. Go sell your wine, Bas.”
Prentiss was waiting for me at a table by the windows, with glasses already set. We shook hands, I opened and poured, and he tasted. For a few minutes, we discussed the weather instead of business. He was the one who ended the small talk.
“The pinot is better than last year’s. Noticeably.”
“Thank you.”
“How are things going at Whitmore?” he asked.
“Different and, at the same time, not, if that makes sense.” I continued when he nodded. “I’ve been the head winemaker for six years now, and every year, my father handed off more responsibility to me. The only thing he hadn’t was sales, which he would’ve stopped doing this year anyway.”
“I was real sorry to hear about his passing, Bas.”
Tom had been at my father’s funeral, like most everyone in the valley had been. I couldn’t remember if I’d spoken to him that day or not. “Thank you,” I said.
“It’s a lot to manage on your own.”
“I agree, but on the other hand, he did it.”
“Zeke still managing the vines?” he asked.
“You know it. I also brought a full-time event manager on board. Her name is Gemma Engel. She’s meeting with Annette Cortese now.”
Tom’s eyes hooded, and he didn’t comment, which seemed odd, but I was here to talk about wine, not the woman who was becoming more of a distraction with every passing day.
“We’ll keep the Chardonnay and Pinot Noir for now and revisit later in the year.”
I was disappointed but didn’t let on. I thanked him again, corked my bottles, and told him I’d wait for his purchase order.
Gemma was waiting by the truck when I carried the samples out.
“That took a while,” she said. “Good or bad?”
“You first.”
“At the end of the day, and not before. Where are we headed now?”
“Little Sparrow first, then Salt and Pepper.”
“I love the Little Sparrow,” she commented.
“What’s your favorite thing to order?”
“The summer squash saffron soup and the rosemary-honey lamb spareribs.”
“We could reverse the order and have lunch if you’d like,” I offered.
Her face lit up. “Do you have time?”
“I always make having lunch with a beautiful woman a priority, especially when she’s my steady girlfriend for a year.” I winked and grinned, but saying it that way was sobering. A year already sounded too short.
Josh Hill, the owner and head chef at Salt and Pepper, tasted everything I brought, then said he wanted to finalize his summer menu before placing an order.
“Hey, is that Gemma?” he asked.
I followed his line of sight and saw her walking in the herb garden with another woman I didn’t recognize. “It is. She’s the new event manager at Whitmore.”
“Does that mean she won’t be booking other venues?”
“Not at all. I’m sure she’ll continue the way she has in the past, working with whoever her clients request.”
“Excellent.” He waved, and both women came inside.
“Bas, have you met my sister, Camille?” he said.
“I haven’t.” I stood and shook her hand.
“You’re from Whitmore, yes?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“Camille is spearheading our new catering business,” Josh explained.
“We’ve been talking about the upcoming industry event at Whitmore,” said Gemma.
Josh looked between her and me. “What’s this?”
After Gemma told him about the Wicked Winemakers’ Ball in November and the opportunity for them to bid on food service, Josh asked to retaste some of the wines I’d brought. By the time we left, I had an order for four to go on his summer and fall lists.
“I hope he’s not expecting quid pro quo,” Gemma said once we were in my truck.
“You said you’d never met Tom Prentiss, right?” I asked, glancing over at her.
“I haven’t. Why?”
“I got the impression he knew who you were.”
Gemma shrugged. “I’ve done a half-dozen events there, and if we met, I don’t recall it.”
When we said we’d be having lunch after our meeting at Little Sparrow, the chef invited us to do a kitchen tasting menu.
“You won’t be disappointed not to have your favorites?” I asked Gemma.
“Libby knows which they are, but anything she prepares, I know will be fabulous.”
While they talked catering, I met with Sparrow’s sommelier, Demi, who also happened to be Libby’s partner.
“Hey, Bas,” she said when she led me into the bar. “What did you bring me today?”
I named off the bottles I’d shared at our first two stops, then pulled out one more. The meritage was one of her favorites but was too pricey for their regular list. It was perfect for their cellar offerings, though.
When we left, two hours later, I had a bigger order from them than I’d anticipated and Gemma had a commitment from them, as well as from Annette from Creekstone and Camille from Salt and Pepper, to host a station at our event in a couple of weeks.
On the drive home to Whitmore, Gemma reviewed her notes. “Annette is adding Whitmore wine to Creekstone’s wedding packages. Every couple who books that ballroom picks their reception wines off a short list of approved wineries, and Whitmore made the cut this morning.”
I did the math while she talked. Weddings at a property that size meant more cases than Prentiss would move in a year, and I said so.
She grinned. “I’m aware. And with the other two, whichever they’re carrying on the regular wine list will be the premier offering for events. So…”
“Looks like you won today’s round,” I said.
“But it’s not a contest.”
I laughed out loud. “Sure it is.”
“In that case, you’re welcome.”
I wasn’t ready for the day to be over.
“What do you have scheduled this afternoon?” I asked when I pulled through the Whitmore gates.
“Meeting reports. What about you?”
“Same.”
I parked near the event center and cut the engine.
“Where is your office?” she asked.
“I usually work in my father’s study like he did. It isn’t ideal, but it will do for now.”
She turned to look at me. “How long is for now?”
“Until I get around to changing it.”
She didn’t say anything while I came around and opened her door. When she got out, she looked at the event center instead of me.
“There’s a furnished office on the other side of the meeting room. You could set up in there. I ran Engel Events off my kitchen table, but now that I have a separation of living and work spaces, I wouldn’t want to go back.”
“That room was supposed to be my dad’s office. When we built this place, he planned to move out of the study. He chose that desk from a catalog, ordered it, and had it delivered. Then my mom got sick, and he stayed where he was. After we lost her, he never brought it up again.”
Gemma glanced at the house, then at me. “Your father thought moving over here was a good idea. What’s stopping you?”
“Honestly? The amount of time it would take to sort through what’s in there. My dad saved paper copies of every contract, invoice, and letter. The file cabinets are full, and somebody has to sort through all of it. That somebody is me, and it’s a job I don’t have time to tackle.”
“You know what makes me a good event planner? Organization. I’m kind of the queen of it.”
“It’s not your mess, Gemma.”
“You loaded everything I own onto a flatbed before I finished my morning coffee. Consider us even when it’s done.”
I couldn’t argue with that, and I didn’t want to. “The study can wait. But I’ll take the office.”
She headed for the event center like I might change my mind.
Inside, the desk, a chair, and an empty bookcase sat under a layer of dust. Gemma returned from the janitor’s closet with rags and a spray bottle.
“I can help with that,” I said, reaching for the cleaning supplies.
“It’s my office.”
This woman was as stubborn as they come. “Has anyone ever told you no?”
“Plenty of people have tried.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Okay, you win.”
She set the rag and spray bottle down and took a step closer to me. “I win? Really?”
Damn, this woman could make me laugh. “Yes, Gemma, you do.”
When she took another step in my direction, she was close enough for me to touch her if I lifted my hand.
“So what do I get?” When she folded her arms, it pushed her breasts up so she was practically spilling out of her blouse. Then she made it worse by biting her bottom lip.
I inhaled her sweet perfume and clenched my jaw and my fists equally tight. If she leaned a fraction of an inch forward, her hardened nipples would smash against my chest.
“Bas?”
“What do you want, Gemma?” My words came out rough.
“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that.”
She spun around to pick up the rag, and rather than let her go, I reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her until our bodies were flush.
I spun us both around again and walked her backwards until she was pressed between the wall and me.
With one hand, I held her throat, and with the other, I reached around and gripped her ass.
Then I kissed her. Her lips opened to me, and I snaked my tongue into her mouth, lapping at her.